


in my right hand there’s the great unknown

by orphan_account



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Wes isn't really an innocent puppy, he's kinda more like a lone wolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca is trying really hard to understand what is going on in Wes' pretty little head. Key word: trying. </p><p>Written before 1.08</p>
            </blockquote>





	in my right hand there’s the great unknown

Thirty five minutes of being cooped up in Annalise’s office often sets the scene for Rebecca’s mind to wander into dangerous territory. The rest of Wes’ stuck up friends are gone, out relaxing after a seven hour stretch of relentless research. Only the hushed murmur of Sinatra reminds Rebecca of the omnipresent threat of Annalise Keating.

Her eyes slide over to Wes, inevitably, who is still studying the file for their latest suspect. Griffin O’Reilly’s folder lies carefully at Wes’ feet, a silent wall between him and Rebecca.

She can’t stand the silence.                                           

“Why do you like me?” she asks. It’s such a non-sequitur that Wes stops working, high lighter poised in his hands. He looks up from his perch on Annalise’s couch, thick files balanced precariously on one knee.

“What do you mean?” Lips pursed, he still doesn’t meet her eyes.

Rebecca pushes off from the wall, trying not to stomp her way over to Wes. Slants of sunlight frame the set of his shoulder, nearly rendering him in gold.

She pushes his chin up gently with her long, thin finger. Obligingly, he looks at her with his puppy dog eyes.

She repeats herself. “Why do you like me?” She catches his mischievous smile and nips it in the bud.  “And I’m not fishing for compliments, so don’t give me any. I honestly want to know why,”

Now, for a boy like Wes, she’d expect him to create an asinine list. He’d say her eyes, her smile, maybe her fucked up sense of humour. Rebecca braces herself for something incredibly cheesy and closed off, just like Wes himself.

After a long pause, he looks back at her. “Eurydice Wounded,” he says. Rebecca can see flecks of gold in his eyes.

When she doesn’t reply, Wes continues, almost rambling.

“It’s this painting I saw, at this art museum. Eurydice was the wife of Orpheus, and when she died, Hades let Orpheus bring her back to the living world, so long as he didn’t turn around to check if she was there. But Orpheus, he did check, you know. He didn’t believe she would still be there, so he lost her,”

_No one has ever believed in me like this before._

Rebecca exhales, trying to lessen the pressure on her chest. “You’ve got some weird hero complex,” she says, trying not to lose her breath.

“It’s not-” Wes cuts himself off, already closing the magnificent walls of himself. Again, he’s acting like a total guy. Rebecca sees the motion of his jaw, the fluid clenching of bone and muscle.

Silence fills the space between them. Wes blinks rapidly, then starts talking to his folder.

“I don’t know why you have this idea that I’m trying to save you, or something. That you’re some kind of damsel in distress, and I need to make you better in order to feel better about myself,”

“But isn’t that what you’re trying to do, Wes? Isn’t this why you’re in law school, working for this nutcase professor?”

“I’m here because I want to _help_ , Rebecca,” Wes sighs. “There’s a difference between helping people and saving them,”

Rebecca scoffs. “I don’t see it,”

“Of course you don’t,”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rebecca feels something ugly growing inside of her. “You _don’t_ see me as something in need of fixing? Because I find that very hard to believe,”

Wes rises, unsteady on his sleeping legs. “I know you have trouble trusting people, Rebecca, but the way you keep acting like I have some ulterior motive for helping you is getting annoying,”

“Everyone has an ulterior motive,” she says, settling for a blank mask on her face. “Even you,”

Wes runs a hand over his face, scrubbing over his eyes and jaw. Rebecca hates herself for not being able to look away, even when anger casts a dark veil over her eyes.

“I mean,” she feels her voice rotting. “You got me in your bed either way. I’d say that’s a pretty big accomplishment,”

Something very huge has been broken, she senses. Immediately, Wes freezes, muscles locked as only his eyes move, slowly, to meet Rebecca’s.

“You should go,” he spits the words, as if they’re prisoners escaping the cage of his jaw. “It’s late,”

Once again, Wes has reacted in the strangest of ways to Rebecca provoking his ire. He looks at her, face blank, not a single trace of the dopey smile that seemed to be plastered to his face. No anger either.

Rebecca glances out the window. The street is pitch black, and the lamps cast an unhelpful glow on the houses. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the thought of going alone is suddenly not as appealing as it used to be. Still, Wes doesn’t say anything. Rebecca sees how he doesn’t break eye contact, watching her coldly as she packs up her bags and shrugs on a coat.

Rebecca pauses at the door. Wes is still standing, arms crossed over his chest, an unfathomable look cast over his handsome face. Almost like Rebecca is a great big question, something he needs to parse and solve.

Suddenly, Sinatra stops crooning next door. Glass doors swinging open, Annalise walks out, looking at the pair. Deep red wine sloshes in her ornate glass.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Wes doesn’t look at her. “Rebecca was just leaving,”

Annalise nods, setting her wine on the counter. Her sole marriage ring clinks against the glass, and she walks off to the kitchen.

Without wasting any more time, Rebecca walks out and tries to find what bus could possibly take her home at this hour.  Nothing was colder than the calculating look both Wes and Annalise had given her before she left. Wrapping her tattered coat around herself, Rebecca tries not to let the memory steal anymore of her vital body heat.

.

The next day, Wes knocks on her door. Wine bottle in hand, he casts his disarming smile her way.

“Could we talk?” he asks, eyes wide and sincere. And of course she lets him in, because if Rebecca has learned one thing, it’s that you can’t really say no to someone like Wes Gibbins.

.

After they’ve drank the whole bottle, Rebecca sprawls across the floor, hip to hip with Wes. The haze of alcohol hasn’t worn off yet, a pleasant hum in her mind. Wes is silent, but that is nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning his head to look at her. “I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone that night,”

“’Don’t be sorry,” she mumbles. “Nothing happened,”

She watches him open his mouth, then shut it, sticking his lips together.

 “I don’t want you to feel bad,” she can hear the words tumbling out of her mouth. “I don’t want you to feel bad about anything, especially not when it’s with me,”

 _God,_ she just emotionally barfed all over him. Rebecca buries her face in his shoulder to hide the flush on her cheeks. Wes hums in response, palm warm on her stomach. He rubs small circles with his pinky, almost ticklish with his light touch.

Wes tilts her chin up, gently, a parody of yesterday. He kisses her, opposite to how she kissed, neither desperation nor fear fueling his actions. The hand on her stomach curves around her waist like it was meant to fit, two Lego pieces finally joined.

And when his hand travels even lower, brazenly touching her in the infallible walls of her shitty apartment, Rebecca forgets everything else. Who needs words when a mouth could fill the spaces, and a clever hand could tune her like a piano. A sweet ache builds inside, rising like the ocean she has never seen. Wes too, moves with fluidity, knowing just what he must do to make her moan like a whore. A true moan, the real deal, her lips parted and back arching, and everything pulled to the tightest degree.  

Finally, _finally_ , when it’s over all she can do is pant and watch. Wes sends her a sweet smile, grabs tissues and cleans the both of them dutifully. She sees his head dips lower, lips pursed in the truly scholarly pursuit of cleaning up jizz. Wes stretches, like a living sculpture, to throw the tissues in the waste basket.

How could she ever doubt him?

Rebecca pulls him down, and they lie together on the floor, hips touching. She ignores the midnight sounds, of Wes’ quiet breathing as he slips in and out of sleep, and she ignores the onslaught of thought against the dopamine flooding her brain. But most importantly, Rebecca ignores the fact that he never really answered her question.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH!!!
> 
> ok now I always thought Wes was /so/ interesting and sometimes he acts really cold/calculating and I'm like wow?? my kinda character. Anyway no one ships this but whatever.


End file.
